


That's Not a Hairpin

by diemarysues



Series: A King and her Burglar [5]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Female Bilbo, Female Thorin, Genderswap, I like sassy Bilbo so sue me, Kidnapping, Semi-disjointed Narration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 09:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Really! Just because she was a Hobbit-lass didn't mean she was <i>helpless</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's Not a Hairpin

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I get sick. Unbetaed.

The marketplace in Erebor was nothing like the one in Hobbiton. Apart from the obvious lack of Hobbits (and overabundance of Dwarves), it was immense – almost three or four times the size. There was also a lot more hustle and bustle. Hobbit markets were relaxed affairs; wares were displayed in stalls and their owners could be found on picnic blankets in the grass. Not so in Erebor.

 

No, here the air was thick with shouting and laughter. Good-natured arguments were had over prices, while some not-so friendly arguments were broken up by the guards on duty. Amongst the food and cloth vendors were those who sold weapons – actual weapons, not like the knife-and-cutlery stalls in the Shire.

 

On the weekend markets there were even a few Men from Dale that came up to peddle their merchandise. Bilbo stood before one such stall, admiring the colourful petals on display.

 

“Pretty flowers for a pretty Hobbit?”

 

Bilbo smiled, more out of politeness than being flattered. “Do many Dwarves buy flowers, Master…?”

 

“Seor, m’lady. They do not buy them often, no, but I have seen them set the flowers into gems, through some craft I do not know.” He fingered the rack of garlands that hung close to his head, making the flower strands twist and shift. “And there are little Dwarflings that like them well enough.”

 

Having received several of these flower pendants – Thorin was nothing if not fond of showering her in gifts – Bilbo merely smiled again. “Do you sell the plants?”

 

Seor nodded, thumbing his small nose. “Not here, o’ course. Nowhere to grow them.”

 

“We’ll have to see about changing that,” Bilbo mused, half to herself. “Do you trade here every week, Master Seor?”

 

“I do, m’lady.”

 

“Perhaps come September you’ll consider bringing up some of your fine saplings.” It wouldn’t take her that long to convince Thorin that she wanted a garden, but they’d need time to find a suitable area and make it ready to receive plants. Thorin would probably want to put in some sort of irrigation system as well…

 

The Man bowed deeply, a ruddy flush colouring his cheeks. “Thank you, m’lady! Please, you must have this.” He picked up a bracelet and handed it to her.

 

“Oh!” It was a simple thing, thin cords of leather braided with ribbon. Delicate flowers – pale pink baby’s breath – were carefully tucked into the bracelet. “I couldn’t possibly…”

 

“Consider it a gift,” Seor said, grinning and making no move to take it back. “In light of future business together.”

 

She grinned back and curtsied. “I look forward to it.”

 

As she continued on, leaving the happy Man behind, Bilbo wondered what Thorin’s reaction would be to her request. She snickered as she imagined Thorin loudly complaining that only Bilbo could go down to the markets and come back with several project ideas.

 

Those complaints were always for show, so Bilbo didn’t mind.

 

The bracelet was really quite pretty, Bilbo mused, admiring the way it sat on her wrist. It was too bad Master Seor didn’t have business in the Shire; his goods would’ve sold out within the hour!

 

Bilbo’s stomach grumbled at her, signalling it to be lunchtime. She was tempted to stay in the marketplace and satisfy her hunger with whatever the food sellers were offering today, but she’d promised Balin that they’d look over the new farming treaty they were drawing up for Dale. Ah well. Another time.

 

She picked her way through the crowd, careful not to get in anyone’s way or accidentally be knocked down, only to be stopped as she skirted the quieter corner of the marketplace. Bilbo looked down at the hunchbacked figure huddled in a filthy blanket.

 

“Please,” the person rasped, “please spare some coin.”

 

Although she was likely late, Bilbo couldn’t just _leave_. “Of course,” she said, as soothingly as she could. Fumbling with the purse on her belt, she added, “Just one moment.”

 

She’d barely gotten the drawstring undone when she found herself being pulled forward into an alleyway. Before she could make a sound she was forced face-forward against the wall, a hand over her mouth.

 

Bilbo tried to tug out of her assailant’s hold, once, but gave up as soon as the fingers on her face tightened their grip. She went as limp as she could, trying to assess the situation and breathlessly hoping this was just a robbery.

 

“Make a noise, and I’ll gut you. Understand?”

 

She nodded and waited. As soon as she felt the grip on her slacken, she jabbed her elbow backwards. She could hear (and smell, ugh) her attacker’s sudden expulsion of breath but wasted no more time on him. She had to run, had to get away, get help.

 

Unfortunately for Bilbo, his right hand had tightened unforgivingly around her wrist. She was just about to open her mouth to yell when he swung her backwards and into the wall.

 

There were firecrackers behind her eyes, and then nothing.

 

* * *

 

Thorin was not a patient Dwarf at the best of times… and this was not the best of times. It hadn’t been since Balin had informed the King that her Consort was missing.

 

That had been two hours ago. Thorin thought she’d been quite patient, all things considered. She had only shouted at five people, and threatened physical harm towards seven. Luckily enough for everyone around her, Nori chose that moment to sweep into the room, dragging a Dwarf by (what was left of) his beard.

 

“What is this?” Thorin demanded angrily – though a sinking feeling in her gut told her that she already knew the answer.

 

Nori shoved the Dwarf onto the floor, none-too-gently. The expression on his face was neutral but the fire in his eyes was anything but. “We found him, and we found this with him.” He tossed something small towards Thorin, who caught it easily.

 

Green reinforced cotton. Yellow flowers stitched along the bottom. And two red B’s just under the knot of the drawstring.

 

Thorin snarled. “Get Dwalin, and get whatever information you can from this scum.” She just barely waited for Nori’s nod before she glared at a guard. “You! Get my sister. And keep my nephews out of this.”

 

He bowed and hurried out of the room. Behind him were Nori and the half-bearded Dwarf. Thorin allowed herself to feel a burst of satisfaction at the terrified look on his face. Good. He’d get what was coming to him and more, if Dwalin and Nori had their way.

 

Then she allowed her anger to return full force. Whoever had _dared_ to do this was a colossal fool, and would soon taste the edge of her blade.

 

Thorin clenched Bilbo’s purse in her fist, and awaited her sister’s arrival.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo was not having a very good time.

 

She was quite sure that there was a spectacular bruise forming on her face where she’d been forcibly introduced to the wall. There was a matching set around her wrists, but they were currently hidden by the manacles that had been snapped on. They were bitingly cold and loose, but not too loose. She’d tried.

 

She’d woken up in this cell, shackled to the wall and the corner of her dress damp with what she hoped was water. Her purse was gone, obviously, but what upset her more was that all the flowers on her wrist were either mangled or missing.

 

Bilbo had _liked_ that bracelet.

 

She sighed and pressed the back of her head against the wall. (She then made a mental note to wash her hair once this was all over. Thoroughly.)

 

Thorin would likely be furious. Bilbo had no doubt that the King would be able to find her, but the process of doing so would likely be not-fun for everyone. Her wife had a sharp tongue and did not hesitate to use it.

 

Bilbo grimaced. She hoped Thorin wouldn’t break anyone’s fingers this time. She was so overdramatic, honestly.

 

When she shifted in an ineffectual attempt to get comfortable, she felt the unmistakeable press of something hard against her ear.

 

Oh, but her kidnappers were _fools_. And speaking of…

 

“Enjoying your stay, Highness?”

 

Bilbo opened her eyes. The Dwarf standing on the other side of the bars was fair haired and dripped emeralds. His clothes were of good-quality make and he wore no armour. She didn’t recognise him.

 

“I’d like it better if I had a cushion,” she replied pertly, only half joking. She’d been unable to move very far away from the puddle of whatever-it-was.

 

He laughed derisively. “I’ve no doubt that you’ve gotten too used to such things, having seduced our King.”

 

Ah. So that was what this was about. Bilbo refrained from rolling her eyes and instead put her hands behind her back. She tuned the Dwarf out. This wasn’t the first time someone had objected to Thorin’s and her wedding, though it was the first time anyone had gone to such lengths to prove their disapproval. Bilbo absently wondered if it was her gender that was the problem, or the fact that she was a Hobbit – but she wasn’t bothered enough to listen and find out.

 

Unfortunately, the Dwarf noticed.

 

Bilbo didn’t even perceive the door being slammed open. She did notice the Dwarf slamming his hands onto the wall on either side of her face, which was just rude.

 

“How _dare_ you ignore me, Halfling!”

 

Ah, so he objected to Bilbo’s marriage to Thorin because she wasn’t a Dwarf. Got it.

 

“You’ll see. I have had you here for half a day, and still your King does not make a move to sweep in and save you. You will learn, _Highness_ , that you are no more worth to her than a scrap piece of tin. You will learn that you do not deserve the attentions of such a great King as Thorin Oakenshield.”

 

Bilbo said nothing to this, even as her eyes narrowed. She kept her hands carefully behind her back.

 

* * *

 

Thorin was honest to a fault, and she could honestly admit that she hadn’t expected _this_.

 

The Dwarf that was behind this – Nori had identified him as Sasur, the youngest son of a noble family – was lying on his side. He seemed to deliberately be taking shallow breaths, the veins in his neck large and purple-looking.

 

Bilbo – her dear, sweet Bilbo – was standing in the middle of the cell. She had bruises on her face and every one made sharp anger flare through Thorin. She kept this to herself, though, approaching her wife silently, question in her eyes.

 

Bilbo gazed back at her and – also silently – showed Thorin her hand; the way her skin was scraped raw and the way her thumb looked dislocated. Manacles, then, or some form of bonds that she’d escaped.

 

Thorin glanced at the far wall, where Sasur was curled up. Yes, manacles.

 

“I took the key from him,” Bilbo said quietly. “After I…” She bit her lip, unwilling to continue.

 

The King was about to reach for her when Nori spoke up.

 

“Punctured lung, Thorin.” He grinned a little when he fingered the small dagger still sticking out of Sasur’s ribs. It only widened when Sasur hissed in pain. “Want me to retrieve your blade, Bilbo?”

 

“Later, Nori,” Thorin murmured.

 

Bilbo sucked in a shuddering breath. “I wouldn’t’ve – it’s just, my hand, I…”

 

Thorin closed her eyes briefly. How very typical of her Hobbit to feel guilty about unwittingly injuring someone who clearly deserved more. And, oh, how this Sasur would _pay_ for insolence, for daring to lay a hand on Thorin’s wife, for –

 

But no. She couldn’t get ahead of herself. The choice of what to do to the offender was in Bilbo’s hands. Thorin knew that Bilbo didn’t like violence, but she hoped that Bilbo would not let this _shekâl_ free without due punishment. If not, then…

 

Then Thorin would obey her wife, and obey the law of the Dwarves.

 

She placed a slightly shaking hand to the small of Bilbo’s back. “What do you want?” The question was simple, but her expression promised that she would tear down the walls of the world for her Hobbit.

 

Bilbo sighed, but as soon as Thorin had touched her, she’d straightened her back and lifted her chin. Now she smiled up at Thorin, a little sadly. “I want to forget.”

 

Thorin brushed the corner of Bilbo’s mouth with thumb of her free hand. “Leave everything to me.”

 

* * *

 

Bilbo set her book aside, pleased to note that her hands weren’t trembling. It had been a… trying day.

 

She had had her bath, and she had been fed, and she’d had another bath just to make doubly sure that she’d scrubbed every last bit of dirt off her skin. Now she sat alone on Thorin’s and her bed, waiting for the King to return.

 

Rubbing absently at the splint on her thumb, Bilbo hoped her wife would return soon. She knew that she’d practically given permission to Thorin to do what she would to the kidnapper (Nori had mentioned a name, but Bilbo didn’t _care_ , she didn’t want to), and while she didn’t know the details of what Thorin planned to do, she could guess.

 

It made her uncomfortable to think about, but she knew it was necessary. And she didn’t want to be kidnapped again, thank you very much.

 

Bilbo closed her eyes against a fresh onset of tears. She’d done her crying in the bath, she didn’t need to start again. All she wanted was Thorin.

 

As if on cue, the door opened.

 

“Give me a moment,” Thorin said softly, disappearing into their bathroom before Bilbo could even get out a greeting.

 

 _Just as well_ , Bilbo thought. At least she’d have time to pull herself together instead of weeping all over Thorin’s chest.

 

When Thorin returned scant minutes later, dressed in her nightclothes and hair still-damp, Bilbo was sitting calmly against the pillows. She watched as the candles were put out, and went willingly when Thorin pulled her into strong arms.

 

Bilbo squeezed her eyes shut when Thorin nuzzled her nose into her brown curls. “I’m sorry we didn’t find you sooner.”

 

“I’m not,” she muttered, pressing close. “Better late than never.”

 

Thorin’s arms tightened around her. “I’d have scoured the earth to find you,” she said lowly. “I would tear apart mountains and drain the sea, or, or raze the forests the Elves call their home.”

 

She couldn’t help but snort, relaxing fully for the first time since she’d returned home. “You’d do that anyway, for sport.”

 

“Perhaps.” Thorin paused. “You do realise that you aren’t going anywhere without a guard, right?”

 

Bilbo sighed, and felt the body under hers tense. “Not Dwalin, please. I know he’s the best you have, but he’s needed elsewhere.”

 

Thorin hummed. Bilbo supposed she was just pleased there wasn’t an argument. “I think it’s best if I let Nori handle your security. His shadows are more… unobtrusive.”

 

She smiled. No one could say her wife couldn’t be considerate on occasion. “And if I take someone with me on my walks, there won’t be a need for a guard.”

 

Another hum. Bilbo was quite aware that Thorin was neither agreeing nor disagreeing, but she supposed it had been too much to ask for. Smiling wryly, Bilbo settled her head more firmly against Thorin’s shoulder.

 

She would have fallen asleep, too, if Thorin hadn’t broken the silence between them.

 

“This is for you,” she murmured, and Bilbo sleepily blinked her eyes open as something soft was placed in her hand.

 

Baby’s breath.

 

“When the marketplace was searched, a Man approached us, saying that he’d seen you and given you a bracelet, with the same flowers my guards found on the ground.” Thorin took a shaky breath. “I thought, I thought that you’d –”

 

Bilbo kissed her.

**Author's Note:**

> I refuse to believe that Thorin wouldn't have - at some point - insisted that Bilbo keep a knife on her person. She'll be smug about it for weeks, make no mistake.
> 
> Edit: shekâl means coward in neo-Khuzdul.


End file.
